The Phantom in the Boardinghouse
by Amarth Obstreperous
Summary: The Phantom of the Opera is in the Boardinghouse attic! Sort of. Lance, Todd and Fred investigate. Humour ensues.
1. Is it the Ghost?

Disclaimer: I don't own The Phantom of the Opera in any of its mediums. Nor do I own X-Men: Evolution.

This is a story I wrote for a friend. It was received well by her and everyone else who read it. And now, a really long time after I wrote it, I've decided to post it here. I've edited it and fixed it up a bit. I hope you all enjoy it.

Chapter One: Is It the Ghost?

Lance Alvers frowned, brow furrowing under his bangs.

Ripping the note out from under the banana magnet that had pinned it to the fridge, he scanned the piece of paper once, twice. Then he went back and read it properly.

Written in red ink on coarse paper was this:

_Dear Monsieurs of the Boardinghouse_

_I am sorry to trouble you at a time I know must when you must be so very busy, fighting the X-Men, skipping school and attempting to fend for yourselves without a leader. _

_However, I should like to take advantage of the fact that you are able to provide yourselves with ample amounts of food (Monsieur Dukes' talents in this field are impeccable) and request that both food and drink be provided for myself as well. Six peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, accompanied by two bottles of Dr. Pepper, are to be left underneath the attic door on the third floor of the Boardinghouse once a day. If I wish to acquire any less healthy substances, I shall obtain them myself, and not trouble you with petty errands._

_Also, I must add that this is the third time I have made any such requests. But service is denied me. And I know that at least one of you is finding these letters, yet persisting to ignore them. Consequently, you are treating me with outrageous contempt. And I must warn you, gentleman, if I am denied food there will be CONSEQUENCES._

_Your most Humble and Obedient Admirer, O.G._

Scowling, Lance angrily clenched his fist, crumpling the note. This resulted in a minor tremor, which Lance quickly silenced. Being able to sense almost every vibration in the house, Lance had gained a newfound paranoia that the Boardinghouse now clung to its foundations like Sylvester the Cat to a telephone wire. Attempts had been made to show Lance just how stable the house was, but having nearly died during the infamous X-Jet joyride two weeks ago, the rock shaker was in no shape to trust a structure that was in the process of being trashed beyond repair.

Lance's expression of panic faded back into an angry frown as he bent to pick up the crumpled note, which he had dropped upon unclenching his hand. Smoothing out the paper and staring at the labored, childish handwriting, Lance knew it was time to get to the bottom of this. And when he got his hands on the guy responsible...

"WHEEEEEEEE!!!!!!"

Bouncing and ricocheting off the walls, Todd descended the stairs, used the banister to make a sharp turn, and then made a huge, graceful leap into the kitchen...only to belly flop directly onto the kitchen table.

"OOOOW!!!!! Oh _man_, that smarts..." Todd moaned, lying prone on the wood surface.

Lance raised an eyebrow, opening the refrigerator to retrieve what he'd come into the kitchen for in the first place: orange juice. Lance took a swig out of the bottle, then put it back.

"How the hell are you so hyper?" He complained to Todd, turning around. "It's seven goddamn AM on a Friday morning."

"Went into Freddy's room to wake him up, he was sprawled out with a half-full box of Oreos balancin' on his fat stomach. I ate 'em. Sugar rush."

"The Blob left something half-eaten? Will wonders not cease." Lance said, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. "Wait--did you write this?"

"Write what?"

This note...it's really more of a letter, though. It's the third one I've seen on the fridge this week. They keep showing up."

Lance handed the battered, wrinkled sheet of paper to Todd, who immediately began to read it, mouthing out the words silently.

"Naw, I didn't write this." Todd looked confusedly at Lance. "Why'd you think I had?"

"I really didn't think so." Lance said. "There's no possible way you'd know what 'contempt' means."

"Hey!" Todd protested, sitting up. Perched in his standard Toad-pose, he handed the letter back to Lance.

"So, who did write it?" Todd asked.

"I have no idea." Lance said. "I thought it was somebody joking at first, but I'm not so sure anymore. Freddy can't write script to save his life, not even the weird way this shit is written. It can't be Pietro's handwriting because there's no way speedy boy would leave spaces between the words. I've seen his homework, he does that even when he prints. And it can't be Mystique, 'cause even if she _was_ back, she wouldn't be creepin' around her own home begging for food. And she wouldn't joke around like this. As for the X-Men...well, I know 'em now. And none of 'em with the abilities to sneak in here undetected and stick this on the fridge would be stupid enough to bother."

Toad pondered this for a moment.

"Could it be Tabby?"

"Please, have you ever seen her actually _ask_ for something as opposed to taking it?"

"Good point." Todd said, studying the note. There was a moment's pause. "So, who do you think wrote it?"

"I told you, I have no idea. But it's _definitely_ an intruder. Someone who's spying on us and trying to scare us."

Lance stood up straight, grim determination on his face.

"And I'll tell you one thing: Lance Alvers does _not_ get pushed around. I'm gonna find out who the hell's set up shop in our attic. Today."

"You gonna skip school?" Todd asked, nonchalant.

"Yes, and so are you. We all are, because if this gets serious we're gonna need everyone. This is a mission."

"A mission?" Todd perked up.

"Yes."

"Awright, yeah!" Todd whooped, jumping up and down. "Finally, we be gettin' some action around here!"

Freddy appeared at the doorway, blinking his eyes sleepily.

"Did anyone see my box of Oreos?" He asked.

tbc.


	2. A Visit to the Attic

Disclaimer: I don't own The Phantom of the Opera in any of its mediums. Nor do I own X-Men: Evolution.

Thanks very much to Lorie and author-fanatic, my two reviewers. C'mon, if anyone else is reading this, leave a review too! It's common courtesy, and it boosts my self-esteem. : )

Chapter Two: A Visit to the Attic

Armed with a flashlight and his patented solemn look, Lance marched up the stairs. There was determination in his step, and the air of a leader about him. He felt powerful and in control, yet slightly apprehensive.

Behind Lance stomped Freddy, who had attempted to sit on Todd after learning the fate of his Oreos, but had been persuaded by Lance to let the Toad go and join in their mission to discover the intruder.

Lastly, Todd bounced up the stairs holding the bait...six peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on a plate.

As the trio ascended to the second floor, Pietro whipped his head out of the bathroom doorway. Thanks to Boom-Boom's constant attentions the door had recently fallen off its hinges, and therefore Pietro preferred, despite his superspeed abilities, to perform his toiletries while everyone was downstairs. Yet now he had been interrupted--comb in hand, and tousled hair covered in blue gel. Quicksilver scowled, then pulled his head back into the bathroom.

Five seconds later he was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and white hair immaculate.

"Hey, what's goin' on? Why the hell are you all up here now, you guys gonna go to school or what?" The speedster inquired, tone both irritated and curious.

"No school today." Lance replied. "We've got work to do."

"Yeah man!" Todd exclaimed gleefully, bouncing from foot to foot. "We're in the middle of a mission! Someone's leaving notes on the fridge, and we're gonna find out who!"

Todd hopped over to Pietro, and thrust the plate under the speedster's nose.

"We're gonna use these. You wanna help, Pietro?"

"What? Hey man, I got better things to do then lurk around the house with PB&J!" Pietro declared, wrinkling his nose at the messily prepared sandwiches. "Have fun playin' your little games, I'm outta here!"

With that, Pietro swung past Todd, swerved between Lance and Freddy and darted down the stairs. Almost immediately after, sounds could be heard emitting from the living room, where the television was.

"At least he's staying home." Lance said. "But we won't need him."

"Damn straight." Todd muttered, re-arranging the sandwiches that the wind in Pietro's wake had messed up. "I made these, an' _no one _insults ma cookin!"

"Mmm...you'll get no objections from me." Said Freddy, who had eaten the first three Todd had made.

"Thank you, Freddy. Nice to know I'm appreciated 'round here."

"Back to business." Said Lance, walking down the hallway and trotting up the next flight of stairs. Freddy and Todd followed him eagerly...until they reached the landing, and stared down the long hallway of unused rooms to the attic door, embedded in the ceiling. Light streamed from the large window at the very end of the hall, but it didn't help.

The Brotherhood rarely came up to this floor. All the living, eating and sleeping rooms they needed were on the first two levels, and all the rooms up here were dusty and cluttered anyway, full of furniture and old books. None of the rooms had been locked, but nothing within had been of any use to the boys. So they were disregarded

Taking a deep breath, Lance started forward, walking until he stood halfway down the hall, under the attic door. Standing on tiptoes, he pulled the cord slowly, letting the stairs connected to the door come down until they landed on the floor with a soft _tap_.

Todd and Fred edged forward for a look, but remained a considerable distance away.

Turning on his flashlight, Lance ascended the attic stairs. Cautiously, he poked his head up until his nose was level with the attic floor, and his eyes could just peer over it. Looking around, Lance shone his flashlight into the dark recesses of the room.

There was lots of old junk, cabinets and lamps and shit. Like the rooms...but more musty and attic-y. It looked the same as it had when Lance had poked his head in after the first note had appeared. And just like before, the hairs on the back of Lance's neck rose.

Relieved that his quick check was over, Lance scrambled down the stairs and motioned for Todd to come forward.

tbc.


	3. The Singular Attitude of a Plate of Sand...

Disclaimer: I don't own The Phantom of the Opera in any of its mediums. Nor do I own X-Men: Evolution.

Thank you, lalalala, for your singular word of praise.

Again, I implore: reviews would be nice! And I've changed the summary to make the story sound more interesting.

Chapter 3: The Singular Attitude of a Plate of Sandwiches

Gulping slightly, Todd did as he was bid and came forward, shuffling his feet along the threadbare carpet. When he reached Lance, the rock shaker took the plate of PB&J from his hands and carefully set it on the ground, directly beneath the attic door.

Tugging on Todd's sleeve, he motioned for the Toad to step back with him. Todd attempted to turn around and flee, but Lance grabbed his shoulders and directed him.

"Here, you walk like this...watch Freddy. Keep your eyes open. Make sure no one's hiding behind him."

This last statement caused Freddy to whip his head around frantically. He nearly lost his balance, but grabbed the banister, saving himself from a nasty fall.

Ignoring Fred's near-tumble, Lance and Todd walked towards the stairs, back-to-back, slowly and carefully. Lance's eyes never left the plate of sandwiches, lying innocently on the carpet.

When the pair reached Freddy, Lance motioned for them all to step back down the stairs until they were almost out of sight. They then grouped together in a small clump and stuck their heads around the edge of the wall, first Freddy's then Lance's then Todd's. All three boys faced the attic entrance, all eyes on the gaping hole and the plate below it.

"Okay." Lance whispered. "This is the plan. Eventually, our mystery man is gonna see that the attic door is open, and he'll come down for the sandwiches. Because desperate times call for desperate measures, I'll risk knocking the house down--"

"The house ain't gonna collapse, man!" Todd muttered fiercely.

"--and start a big tremor." Lance continued, ignoring Todd. "That'll knock the guy off his feet. Then you slime him, Toad. Get him in the eyes so he can't see. Lastly Freddy, you sit on him."

"Gotcha." Fred smiled, glad to be the final key element in the procedure.

"And then we'll have him!" Lance finished triumphantly, still not taking his eyes off the plate. "Any questions?"

"Yeah. What the hell are all you loser-boys doin' up here???"

All three heads whipped around.

Tabby was standing seven steps below them, leaning against the wall. Her arms were crossed, and her expression was that of contempt, annoyance and curiosity, all rolled into one. In short, 127 pounds of bitch-slushie with platinum hair. And a severe lack of patience.

"I asked you guys." Tabby said again, frown making her already ugly face even more horrible to behold. "What are you doin' up here?"

"Shhh!!" Freddy said, frowning and putting a large finger to his lips. "We're waiting to see who'll come out of the at--"

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Todd's terrified squeal scared the bejeesus out of everyone. But as Lance turned around to look in the direction Todd's trembling finger was pointing, he felt his blood turn to ice.

The sandwiches were gone.

Leaping up the few steps and racing down the hallway, Lance skidded to a halt in front of the attic door. Todd stuck next to him like a shadow, shaking with fear and occasionally emitting strange, high-pitched whimpers. Freddy followed behind equally fast, though carefully, so as not to accidentally put a hole through the floor with his foot. Behind him, Tabby sashayed up the stairs at a leisurely pace, stopping at the top of the stairs to stare down the hallway at the boys, one eyebrow raised.

Suppressing his desire to turn and run, Lance knelt down next to the plate.

Every last sandwich was gone. And despite the rim having earlier been smeared with crumbs and Todd's peanut butter-y fingerprints, the entire plate was now spotless. It looked as if it had been doused in hot water and wiped clean.

And on the middle of the plate was a small piece of paper, folded in half. With hands that shook slightly, Lance reached down and picked up the paper. It was the same type of paper as the notes on the fridge. And upon unfolding it, Lance saw both the red ink and handwriting were the same as well:

_My thanks, Monsieurs. The soda?_

The message was short, but effective. Reading over Lance's shoulder, Todd ceased his whimpering and emitted a grating moan, similar to the moans made by Romanian peasants who have founds signs of Dracula in their town square.

And without a word, the Toad turned on his heel and began bouncing frantically towards the stairs.

"W-where are you going?" Lance called, voice weak with shock.

"To get soda!!!!" Todd shrieked, not turning his head. He leapt past a startled Boom-boom and quickly descended the stairs, his sneakers making loud thumping noises on the steps.

"Dude?"

Lance looked up at Freddy, towering above him. The Blob's face was pale, but he looked almost thoughtful. Which to Lance seemed an odd thing. Freddy rarely spent his time thinking.

"What is it, Fred?"

"D'you know how fast Pietro moves in seven seconds?"

Lance shook his head. "No man, I don't. I mean he moves fast, but I don't know the mathematical details." He looked down at the plate again, and at the note in his hand. "So, how fast does the speedster move in seven seconds?"

"I dunno either." Freddy said. "That's why I was askin' you. But I've seen Pietro move, and when he does something under ten seconds that involves running more than a few yards, he makes a breeze. Sometimes a pretty powerful one. But we barely had our backs turned for five seconds, and in that span of time someone took six sandwiches off the plate, then cleaned the plate, and wrote a note to leave on the plate. With no breeze."

Lance felt goose bumps rise on his skin. Freddy's deduction was absolutely accurate, and in addition to canceling Quicksilver out as a suspect...it had also suggested that whoever was in the attic wasn't an average everyday human being.

"I got the sodas!"

Todd's shout pulled Lance out of his thoughts as the skinny mutant came racing up the stairs, a cold, plastic bottle of Dr. Pepper clutched in each hand.

"Here!" He said upon reaching Lance's side, breathing heavily as he held out the two bottles to the rock shaker. "Put them on the plate, then let's lea--"

"Hey, soda!"

Without warning, Boom-boom popped up behind Todd, and snatched the Dr. Pepper out of his left hand before he could protest.

Twisting open the cap, she winked and took a quick swig.

"Thanks!" Tabby smiled evilly, then turned and walked back down the hallway, then down the steps.

There was a moment's silence. Then Todd let out a high-pitched shriek, similar to the one he had emitted upon turning around and seeing the plate empty.

Dropping the other soda on the floor, he raced down the hallway and nearly slammed into the wall. As Toad scrambled down the stairs, Freddy and Lance looked at each other, than raced after him.

tbc.


	4. Tabby and What Followed

Disclaimer: I don't own The Phantom of the Opera in any of its mediums. Nor do I own X-Men: Evolution. 

Thanks very much to InterNutter and Steven P. P for their reviews. And in response to InterNutter's musings about Tabby, don't think of her as Christine. Think of her more as Carlotta. :D

Chapter Four: Tabby and What Followed

They tracked Todd down three flights of stairs to the living room. As the TV was rapidly changing channels and the remote lay smoking on the couch, it appeared Pietro had been watching at superspeed (though the channel changes could never keep up with how fast he pressed the button), but had left in a hurry, most likely due to his dislike of being in the same room as Tabby. The cherry-bomb bitch herself was now sitting on the arm of the couch, leaning back and drinking the soda in small sips, reveling in her supreme annoying-ness.

Todd stood in front of her, looking scared as anything.

"C'mon Tabby, give me back the soda!" He pleaded. "You've drunk too much already and I'll have to get another one, but it would be a good idea if you gave back what was left! To show you're sorry!"

"Sorry?" Tabby scoffed. "Sorry for what?"

"For takin' what isn't yours." Todd said. "For takin' the intruder's soda!"

"What?!" Tabby said, giving Todd one of her patented 'you're a loser nutcase' looks.

"It's true, Tabs." Fred said from his position in the doorway behind Lance. "Someone was leavin' notes on the fridge, askin' for food. And whoever that someone is, he stole all the sandwiches we left while our backs were turned!"

"Bullshit!" Tabby exclaimed gleefully. "Ain't no way someone could be hiding in our attic! I'd know about it!"

"Oh would you, now?" Lance asked, anger rising in his gut. When Tabby got on his nerves it usually involved his jeep, but now he was really mad at her. Because she refused to believe.

"Sure." Tabby replied, oblivious to the negative emotions around her. "I know everything that goes on in this house. There's nothing that can hide from me. So this intruder, this scary _ghost_ of yours, he'd better come out and give himself up while the givin' up's good!"

Finishing off the Dr. Pepper in one long swig (and ignoring Todd's cry of distress) Tabby dropped the bottle on the floor and spread her arms wide.

"Come out, Mr. Ghost!" She yelled, enjoying the fear in Todd's eyes as he desperately tried to shush her. "Come out, come out, wherever you are! Or are you too scared?? Aw, is that it? Is the little dumb ghostie-wostie too scared to show his fa--co-ACK!"

As the unearthly croak tore itself past Tabby's lips, she froze, arms outstretched. A look of absolute shock and incredulity was on her face, and she stared at nothing, mouth hanging open.

"T-todd?" Lance said softly, staring at his friend's back. Maybe it had been--

"It wasn't me!" Todd squeaked, voice little more than a whisper. " I swear!"

Next to the couch, Tabby seemed to regain her composure.

"What..." She said, pressing a hand to her throat. "What hap--co-ack!"

Everyone in the room flinched at the dreaded noise. In vain, Tabby tried to speak again.

"Wha--co-ack! Is--co-ack! Thi--co-ack! Whatisthi--co-ACK! AHHHHH--co-ack!--HHHHH--co-ack--!HHHH!!!!!!"

As Tabby's composure utterly dissolved and she fell to her knees, screaming and clutching her throat, an ominous voice arose above the tumult. All four teens froze solid, as the voice seemed to resonate from the ceiling, right above their heads.

In a tone full of deadly malice, sexless and ageless, the voice spoke:

"You talk too much, _Mademoiselle Bombe_. You are shrieking to-day to bring down the fan!!!"

The four mutants as one raised their eyes to the ceiling. They stared at the fan, which moments before had been spinning complacently and hanging sturdily from the ceiling...but was now slipping from its screws, and sagging sideways.

As if at the call of that fiendish voice, the wires that held the fan snapped in a flurry of electric sparks, and the great tan thing came crashing down onto the coffee table.

Tabby screamed, and bolted out of the room like a bat out of hell. Lance heard the front door slam, and dimly realized she was probably stealing his jeep. But he didn't care right now. His nerves were beyond frazzled. And looking forward, he saw Todd give a soft sigh and pass out, dropping to the floor like a bag of bricks.

"Shit..." Freddy muttered, eyes wide. He was staring at the fan like it was going to jump up and bite him. "Oh shit...we are way over our heads."

A sudden gust of wind brushed by, and Lance found himself looking straight at Pietro. The speedster quickly took in his surroundings: fan destroyed, Blob and Avalanche frozen in place, and Toad down for the count.

"So Alvers," Pietro said, raising his eyebrows and smirking. "I guess your paranoia 'bout making' tremors in the house has worn off, hasn't it? Nice work, very nice work you've done."

Lance snapped out of his state of shock, glaring at Pietro with a look that could have curdled milk.

"Out! Out!" He yelled at Pietro. He didn't bother to try shoving at the speedster, knowing full well Pietro would dodge him easily. So Lance settled for waving his arms wildly in Pietro's direction. "Get out! Go bother someone else!"

"Fine fine, whatever." Pietro scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Y'know, you can be really touchy sometimes Alvers!"

With another gust of wind, Quicksilver departed.

Wiping a hand across his face, Lance noted that Todd still lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. He motioned for Fred to come forward.

"'C'mon. Go carry him up to his room and wake him up."

"How do you want me to do that? Wake him, I mean. Water or lack of air?"

"You pick. I need to go take some aspirin."

tbc.


	5. The New Solution

Disclaimer: I don't own The Phantom of the Opera in any of its mediums. Nor do I own X-Men: Evolution.

Thanks so much, InterNutter and Tailfeather! I'm sorry the wait for this chapter was a mite long...I had business to attend to. To make up for it, I will try to post the sixth chapter on Saturday.

I also apologize, in advance, for introducing an OC into this tale of mine. As I said, it was written for a friend, so both of us (although altered somewhat) are in this story. But aside from moving the plot along, the OCs in thisstory do nothing Mary-Sueish. No romance with canon characters, no screwing around with the overall X-Men: Evolution canon.

Chapter Five: The New Solution

After Lance had swallowed two aspirin, and Todd had been brought back to the world of the living, (too lazy to stick him under cold water, Fred had put a pillow over the Toad's face and taken it off when the smaller mutant had started thrashing) the three Brotherhood members regrouped around the kitchen table, where the entire mess had started.

While Todd sulked in his chair, humiliated at both Fred's method of reviving him and the fact that he had fainted in the first place, the Blob was stuffing his face with corn chips, happily oblivious to the world around him as he gorged.

Lance, however, did not afford himself that luxury. He was pacing the kitchen fretfully, occasionally staring up at the ceiling as if the specter that haunted them would magically appear. All his relaxation had fled with Tabby, and every single muscle he possessed was tense with worry and anticipation.

Never until now had Lance come close to being as tense as his archrival Scott Summers, and now the rock-shaker was in danger of passing that level. Though anyone who even suggested a comparison like that to Lance would have soon found all his teeth missing and the ground shaken out from under him.

"We need a new plan." Lance said, stopping his pace in front of the table. Freddy stopped chewing, and Todd stared at him sullenly.

"Yeah, I got a plan." The Toad snapped. "How 'bout we get the hell out of here and not come back? Or just keep makin' PB&J, and never set foot on the third floor again? Those sound like pretty good plans to me."

"What?! You little chicken!" Lance shouted, slamming his fist on the table right in front of Todd. "Are you just gonna sit there and let some voice tell us what to do? Are you gonna let him snatch this house right out from under us? C'mon, Todd! Are you a man, or a mouse???"

"Neither. I'm certifiably cold-blooded. Last doctor I went to said so."

Lance slapped his forehead. "That's not what I meant, and you know it. Now, does anybody have any suggestions as to what to do next? Suggestions that don't involve giving in or running away?"

There was a very long pause. So long, it gave Lance enough time to realize that his life had hit a dead end, and then enough time for him to mentally retrace his steps and work out exactly how he'd gotten himself here in the first place.

"Well...we could go ask the X-Men for help." Freddy offered finally, crumbling a bit of corn chip between his fingers.

Lance seriously considered this for a moment, but then realized that a) He'd rather chew his own arm off than be willingly aided by the X-Men, b) if Kitty came there was no way he could guarantee she wouldn't get hurt by this bodiless voice, and c) he'd rather chew his own arm off than be willingly aided by the X-Men.

"No." He stated firmly. "A fairly good idea Freddy, but no. We don't need to be in their debt, not over something as minor as this."

"Man, a scary voice that makes fans drop and Boom-booms croak is _not_ minor!!!"

Lance ignored Todd, and looked at Fred. "Do you have any other good suggestions?"

Fred pondered this for a moment, a strained expression on his face. It occurred to Lance that all this thinking must be making the Blob's head hurt, and he'd probably be in need of the aspirin as well, by the end of the day.

"History class."

"What?" Todd asked, whipping his head around to look at Freddy.

Lance was equally confused. "History class? What does school have to do with any of this?"

"There's this girl in my history class." Fred explained. "She was my partner for a project on the Civil War. First time I ever got an A in that class. And she's sorta like Rogue."

"What, so you have a crush on her or something? That still isn't important. And I thought you had a crush on Jean, not Rogue. Or do you have a thing for all redheads?"

"No!" Freddy shouted, cheeks coloring. "I never liked Rogue that way. An' I don't like Martha that way either! My point is, she's sorta like Rogue in the sense that she sticks out in the crowd. Without the help of mutant powers or anythin'. Rogue did that, still does that. And Martha's weird too. She likes scary stuff. Gave me an entire lecture on werewolves once. Damn near talked my ear off."

"And your point is?" Todd asked, still confused and beginning to grow impatient.

"She knows alot about mysterious stuff. Like witches and vampires and ghosts. That's my point. 'Cause we've got a ghost in our attic, don't we? And if we don't go ask the X-Men for help, she's the next best thing!"

Realization dawned on Todd's face, and something like a glimmer of hope came into his eyes.

"Yea! Thas' a great idea, Freddy! Where can we find this girl?"

"In school, most likely, considering it's not even nine o' clock." Lance grumbled, but he felt excited. Here was a possible solution: someone who could educate them on what they were dealing with, and how to fight it.

"Fred, can you walk over to the school and go find this Martha chick?" Lance asked.

"Sure, no problem." The Blob said, heaving himself up from his seat. "I'll be back in no time."

tbc.


	6. Minor Vicissitudes

Disclaimer: I don't own The Phantom of the Opera in any of its mediums. Nor do I own X-Men: Evolution.

Thanks very much to Tailfeather and Readerrr Grrrl. Lo, the chapter is updated Saturday, as I have promised. : )

It is my sneaky, tricksy plan to update now, and hope that this story may stay on the first pageduring the timeno-one may review or update/post, as ff.n says will happen from Sunday to Tuesday. My next update should be on Wednesday.

P.S - 'vicissitudes' means changes, for everyone who didn't know. I sure didn't.

Chapter Six: Minor Vicissitudes

"Where the hell is he?" Lance exclaimed for the umpteenth time. "It's been over four hours already!"

"Actually, it's been over five." Todd commented, eyeing a tiny moth that was fluttering innocently near the television screen. "But really man, calm down. He'll have to come back sometime. All the free food is here."

As opposed to Lance, who had spent most of the morning pacing about the first floor, Todd had used his time productively. He had first wandered outside, and set himself entirely to the task of catching enough bugs to satisfy his appetite. This had put an end to his foul mood, as fresh air and the focus of a satisfying fly-hunt always did wonders for him. After his 'brunch', he had come back inside and helped an agitated Lance pick the fan up off the coffee table and store it in the front hall closet. Aside from the obvious lack of ceiling fan and several scratches in the wood surface of the table, the living room had suffered no major damage. Then, in an act of bravery that surprised both Lance and himself, Todd had worked up the nerve to climb halfway up the third flight of steps, in order to throw another bottle of Dr. Pepper up onto the third floor. For as Todd had explained, they 'couldn't be too careful' and appeasing the ghost at this point was probably the best idea.

The rest of the time, Todd had busied himself with watching TV and snapping his tongue out at the occasional insect.

"Dammit, this isn't funny!" Lance growled, flopping down onto the couch next to Todd. "This is a waste of my time and yours! I'll bet you anything Fred just wanted to get out of the house."

"Eh, I don't think that's it, dude. Fred couldn't make up a lie that creative--about a ghost expert chick, an' all. Most likely he ran into an all-you-can-eat restaurant opening along the way, an' is in the process of ruining their business as we speak."

"You're probably right." Lance muttered, glaring up at the blank TV screen (Todd had turned it off ten minutes ago because there had been absolutely nothing on). "But if Blob boy doesn't get back here in five minutes--"

Lance was interrupted as he heard the front door slam open, and the familiar low voice call out: "I'm back!"

"You were sayin', man?" Todd smirked slightly, then leapt off the couch and bounced into the main room. Lance followed him, curious to see exactly what Fred had brought back to the Boardinghouse.

The Blob himself was standing in the doorway, looking very proud of himself.

"Dude, what took you so long?" Lance asked, letting his severe irritation come through in his tone.

Fred looked sheepish. "Well...I found Martha really quickly. She was in study hall. But she didn't wanna skip school 'cause she had homework to hand in and a math quiz and stuff. So I just stayed at school until it ended. Then we left."

"We? What we?" Todd asked. "Where's the ghost expert?"

"Behind here." Replied a plain and straightforward voice. "Freddy, would you mind shifting ever so slightly to the left? I want to meet your friends."

Fred did as he was bid, and the ghost expert stepped out from behind him and into the house.

She didn't look at all the way Lance had expected her to look. He'd assumed that when Freddy had compared her to Rogue, he had meant that the ghost expert dressed in a Gothic style as well. But this girl was no Goth. Had it not been for the black combat boots and loose t-shirt, he would have taken her for a prep. Her backpack was free of pen scribbles, her jeans were untorn, and the sweatshirt tied around her waist screamed Old Navy, even though it sported no label. Also, she wore no makeup, and her short hair was tied back with an elastic.

But no style of dress or clothing could have possibly prepared Lance for what happened next.

Grinning hugely, the girl stepped forward and held out her hand to Todd. He reached out hesitantly, only for the girl to snatch it and give him a vigorous handshake.

"How do you do?" The girl said. "My name's Martha Oren, and I'm very pleased to meet you! Whoever you happen to be. What's your name?"

"Um...Todd. Todd Tolansky." Todd said. He looked a little unnerved, which was understandable.

Giving Todd another smile, Martha stepped over to Lance and shook his hand as well.

"And you are?" She asked.

"Lance Alvers." Lance said, shaking her hand back. This chick was forceful, he could tell that by the handshake. But if her politeness was anything to go by, she was gonna be a helluva lot nicer than Tabby.

"Now." Martha said. "Fred tells me you have a poltergeist in your house."

"A polty-wha?" Todd asked, making a confused face.

"A poltergeist." Martha repeated. "A restless spirit, often the remains of a chaotic person who has died a messy or painful death. These types of ghosts are rather dangerous, and can cause severe damage to a house and its occupants by locking doors and moving objects." She shrugged her shoulders. "Fred's description of the activities your ghost performed today seem to indicate that it's a poltergeist."

"See? I told you she was an expert." Freddy beamed.

"I can't really be sure until I have made a full analysis, though." Martha continued. "So I need you boys to tell me everything that's happened today, down to the last minute detail. Okeyday?"

"Um...sure." Lance said. He was still unsure as to whether Martha was mentally stable or not (so many people he came across weren't) but she seemed to know her stuff. So he motioned for her to follow him into the kitchen. The two other Brotherhood members followed behind her.

tbc.


	7. Martha's Revelations

Disclaimer: I don't own The Phantom of the Opera in any of its mediums. Nor do I own X-Men: Evolution.

Thanks very much to Tailfeather (yes, Martha is based on me...how'd you tell? ; ) ), Readerrr Grrrl and peices of me. And I'd just like to say I'm REALLY REALLY sorry for not updating when I said I would. I know how dissapointing that is.

But I do have an excuse! My document manager thingy wasn't working, and it wouldn't let me upload any documents. It was like that virus check thing was still going on, except everyone else was updating (which peeved me to no end). But all that seems to be over, thank goodness. And the next chapter'll be updated on Tuesday, to make up for this.

Another note… I wrote this story before I saw the Phantom of the Opera musical, so everything within this story is book-material, not theatre-material. Just clarifying that.

Chapter Seven: Martha's Revelations

"So that's basically it." Lance finished, leaning back against the kitchen counter. "After that, Fred suggested we get you to help us."

Martha nodded, and made yet another notation in her notebook.

Through Lance's explanation of the morning occurrences, she had frequently made such notes. She had also continually interrupted him, having him repeat part of his story, or explain something in greater detail. It was rude and annoying, but Lance had tolerated it because he figured she'd need all the facts.

And at any rate, the chick had proven herself unprejudiced. Fed up with her repeated questioning of 'And exactly _how_ were you going to capture him after you'd lured him out of the attic?' Lance had admitted without shame that he was a mutant, and that the Boardinghouse was solely occupied by such people. Martha had taken this piece of information fairly well, merely raising her eyebrows, then asking all three of them to clarify exactly what their powers were. They had done so, and she had immediately gone back to questioning Lance.

Smiling, Martha shut her notebook and stood up.

"Well gentleman, I have made my analysis. And I would first like to apologize: my theory was wrong. You do not have a poltergeist in your house."

"Yeah!" Todd whooped, jumping up out of his chair. He paused. "Wait...izzat a good thing, or a bad thing."

"Well, it's both." Martha said. "It means that your intruder isn't a murderous, vengeful poltergeist. That's always a good thing. However, your intruder isn't a spirit at all, vengeful or otherwise. He's flesh and blood. And that makes him dangerous too, though easier to combat. I hope."

"You hope?" Lance raised an eyebrow.

Reaching into her notebook, Martha pulled out the letter that had been left on the fridge. She had demanded to see it, so Lance had rooted it out of the trash and given it to her.

"This letter," Martha said, holding it up. "Is the most substantial piece of proof we have. not only does it confirm that the writer is not a spirit, but it also confirms who he is trying to be. Or who he thinks he is, depending on whether he's delusional or simply obsessed."

"So who is this guy trying to be?" Lance asked, tone impatient.

Martha laughed. "Why, the Opera Ghost, Monsieur!"

There was a collective gasp around the room.

"The Opera Ghost!" Todd shrieked.

"The Opera Ghost!" Martha confirmed.

"Who's the Opera Ghost?" Fred asked, scratching his mohawk. He was sitting on the floor by the door, and looked extremely confused.

"A man who haunted the Paris Opera House in the late 1800's, taking money from the managers and living in the lowest sub-basement. The Phantom of the Opera is his full title." Martha said. "It's also the title of the book Gaston Leroux wrote about him. It's a mystery novel, labeled as fiction, but in truth it's anything but fiction. The Phantom was not a ghost, but a real man. An extraordinary man. A singer, a writer, a jack-of-all-trades. He could do anything."

"Anything?" Lance said. "He sounds like a mutant."

"Oh no, most definitely not!" Martha said. "His skills came from his genius, not from the evolutionary gene you boys possess. Besides, he was horribly deformed. His head was a living skull, his skin yellow and dead, his eyes burned with a hellfire that could only be seen in the dark."

"That's cool." Freddy said, smiling.

"Not for him, it wasn't. To the world, he was a monster. He lived and died as one, befriending less than five people, and only ever touching one."

"Wait...he died?" Lance asked. "But if he's dead, and not a real ghost, the how is he here haunting our house?"

"I didn't say it was the true Phantom!" Martha responded. "I believe your intruder is merely an admirer of him, using the Phantom's methods to get what he wants from you. In the book, The Phantom takes what he wants from people through means of trickery, trapdoors and ventriloquism. He makes a horrid singer croak like a toad, then he drops a chandelier. The same has been done to you...though on a marginal level."

"So we've got a nutcase running around the attic, pretending to be this Phantom dude?" Lance asked.

"That is my guess."

"So how do we get rid of him, yo?" Todd asked, hopping from foot to foot.

"Well, all attempts to locate the real Phantom ended in either death or near-death for the searchers." Martha pondered. "But with your powers, we should be safer than Joseph Buquet or the Comte de Chagny ever could have been. So we'll play this Phantom's game. We'll follow the book, and use our heads. And together, we shall discover this Phantom's whereabouts!"

Reaching into her backpack, Martha rummaged around, and pulled out a strange, middle-eastern looking cap. Smiling, she jammed it securely on her head.

"It's a good thing I cleaned out my locker today. Come, gentleman! The Daroga shall lead you! And keep your hand at the level of your eye!"

"What?" Todd asked.

"Never mind. I'll explain later."

tbc.


	8. In the Kitchen of the Boardinghouse

Disclaimer: I don't own The Phantom of the Opera in any of its mediums. Nor do I own X-Men: Evolution.

Thanks very much to Phantom, my good friend and compadre. You're right dude, I should have told you of this sooner…I guess I just misremembered to. But now you know of it, and I'm assured at least one review per chapter. W00t!

But to the rest of y'all, multiple reviews are still nice. Please give a response after reading. : )

Chapter Eight: In the Kitchen of the Boardinghouse

As the self-appointed Daroga marched out of the kitchen, the three unappointed (though apparently as clueless) Raouls De Chagny slowly climbed to their feet and followed Martha through the main hallway and into the living room.

"Now." Martha said, pointing at the ceiling. "You heard the Phantom's voice coming from directly above your heads? Around where the chandelier was?"

"Yeah, more or less." Lance said. "But it wasn't coming from behind the ceiling so much as it was coming from right above our heads. Like the speaker was invisible."

Martha chewed her lip thoughtfully. "Well, that still leaves the matter open." She said. "No doubt this faux Phantom is as much of a trap-door lover as the original, but--"

"Wait, whatsa trap-door lover?" Todd asked. "Is it like, a guy who makes out in trap doors?"

Freddy chuckled, only to be silenced by a furious glare from Martha. Even with the hat, she looked formidable.

"As I was saying." Martha said. "Though the Phantom in this house is most likely just as knowledgeable about the use and construction of trap-doors as the original Phantom, the voice that spoke to you from the ceiling doesn't imply that there is a passageway in this room. Most likely the voice was the result of ventriloquism, not the location of the speaker."

"So that means what?" Lance asked.

"It means we go back to the kitchen!"

The three boys found themselves making a u-turn as Martha walked past then and back into the kitchen. Once inside, she immediately began walking around the room, opening cabinets and knocking on the walls.

"Waitaminute!" Fred said indignantly. He didn't like having to move fast. "What exactly are we looking for?"

"We are looking for an entrance into the Phantom's lair." Martha responded matter-of-factly, not ceasing her inspection of the kitchen walls.

"But there's already an entrance!" Lance said. "Why can't we just go through the attic door?"

"Oh no man!" Todd said, shaking his head at Lance. "Ain't now way we goin' up there again! Leastways, I ain't."

"We're not going through the attic door." Martha replied calmly, closing the last cabinet and walking back over to the doorway where the Brotherhood was standing. "Because in addition to Todd's paranoia issues, the attic door is presumably the main entrance to the Phantom's lair. And, like the underground lake in the Opera House, it is most likely a dangerous route."

"But...wouldn't all routes to the Phantom's lair be dangerous?" Fred asked.

Martha beamed. "Excellent perception, Freddy! You're quite right, this hunt is going to be dangerous no matter what way we go at it. So I'm trying to deduce what would be the least dangerous entrance. And I think the one in this kitchen is probably the safest."

"Wha? There's one in the kitchen?" Todd looked around fearfully.

"Well, I don't know for sure." Martha replied hastily. "But how else do you think the Phantom left all those notes without having to creep down the stairs?"

"True." Lance said. "But where could he have possibly entered from?"

"Nowhere in plain sight, of course." Martha said, turning to face Lance. "But this is an old house, right? One that's been modernized and fitted with appliances long after its construction?"

"Um...yeah. I think so." Lance said, brow furrowing. "Why?"

"Because," Martha said, smiling slightly. "I think there might be a dunwaiter."

"A what-waiter?" Todd asked, looking horribly confused.

Still smirking, Martha looked around the room, eyes searching.

"Not behind any cabinets," She muttered, "And the refrigerator's too heavy to move without making noise. That only leaves…oh!"

"What?" Lance said, as Martha's eyes fixed on a point at the level of the kitchen counter.

"Freddy?" Martha said

"Yeah?"

"You see the microwave sitting on the counter?"

"Yeah. I make my popcorn in that."

"That would explain why it's one of those bigger models. At any rate, would you please move it for me, Fred?"

"Um, sure." Fred looked confused, but walked over to the large microwave. Grabbing it by the sides, he effortlessly picked it up, and set it to the side. The four adolescents gathered round, to see what was behind it.

Embedded in the wall was what looked like a cabinet door, painted white. It had two hinges on one side, and a rusty handle. Yet despite having been blocked by an appliance that had not been moved in months, the door was completely free of dust.

"Yes!!!!" Martha grinned triumphantly. "I'm a genius!" She raced across the kitchen to stand next to Freddy, Lance and Todd followed her.

Leaning over the counter, Martha lightly tugged on the handle. For a moment it looked like it was going to break off in her hand, but then the rusty hinges moved suddenly and soundlessly, as if they had been oiled. The dunwaiter door swung outward, opening to reveal a black and musty hole.

Holding her nose, Martha leaned farther over the counter and looked into the hole.

"It goes ub really far!" She said, voice slightly muffled. "Ad the lifd-thingy they used to carry the stuff ub is gone. Bud the ropes are still here! This indicates thad not only is our Phantub ad expert rope climber, e's also really thin. Like Erik was, I bed."

Stepping back again, Martha wormed her way out of the gap. Reaching into her back pocket, she pulled out a red handkerchief.

"Here." She said, pressing it into Todd's hand. "You're going up, you might want to tie that 'round your face as protection against the dust. Not that I can see any, the chute looks surprisingly free of cobwebs. But you never know. You'd best take the handkerchief"

"WHAT?!" The Toad shrieked, leaping backwards. "Are you insane? You want me to go up there?"

"Well, someone's got to go investigate."

"But why me?"

"Because," Martha said, a tone of authority creeping into her voice. "You are the only one small and thin enough to shimmy up the dunwaiter. So you've got to go up there, see where it leads, then come back down and report what you saw. It's as simple as that."

"But...but..." Todd whimpered, picking nervously at the handkerchief in his hands.

"But nothing, Toad." Lance said. "We've got to get to the bottom of this, and we've got to do it now. You're going up."

tbc.


	9. The Master Stroke of the TrapDoor Lover

Disclaimer: I don't own The Phantom of the Opera in any of its mediums. Nor do I own X-Men: Evolution.

Thank you InterNutter, The Phantom, and Tailfeather for reviewing. You guys are my steady reviewers, and I heart you. :D

I meekly acknowledge my spelling mistake, and announce boldly that it should be spelled '**Dumbwaiter**'. However, I will not change the spelling in Chapter Eight until it benefits me to update this fic without actually putting up another chapter. Sorry, but I'm lazy like that.

As for Tailfeather's bit of news…I am extremely envious of you. Because wherever you are, you're not from America if you'll be seeing the 'Phantom' movie December 10th. In the States, the movie opens December 22nd in select cities, and January 21st nationwide. So says the official site.

But I agree. We must all see it! And then compare it to both book and musical in lively debates.

Now…a climactic chapter!!!!

Chapter Nine: A Master Stroke of the Trap-Door Lover

"Nooo..." Todd moaned, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. "This ain't happenin', this ain't happenin'..."

"Oh, but I'm afraid it is." Martha said. "I'm sorry Todd, but it's got to be you."

"But...but I can't! I'm afraid of small places!" Todd exclaimed, his expression pleading.

"Bull." Lance said, rolling his eyes. I've seen you hide from Mystique inside cabinet drawers. You're about as claustrophobic as a mole."

"But.."

"No more excuses!" Lance looked downright angry now.

Todd sighed. He knew there was no way out of this. All he could do was pray he wasn't headed for a nasty, dusty end.

"Fine, fine. Outta my way." He said unhappily, pushing himself into the dusty gap. Taking the crumpled handkerchief in his hand, Todd folded it into a triangle and tied it over his face. He now looked like a western bank robber, but this knowledge did nothing to cheer the scrawny teen.

Reaching upwards into the dumbwaiter, Todd grabbed the rope firmly. With one last pitiful look at those behind him, he climbed onto the counter, squirmed his front half into the dumbwaiter, than pulled his legs in by climbing upwards. A bit of scuffling, and he was in completely.

"How ya doin, Todd?" Lance called.

"Okay!" Came a muffled shout, echoing back down the shaft. Scraping noises were also echoing down, as Todd was apparently pushing his feet against the walls in order to climb. And as he moved higher, the scraping noises got dimmer and dimmer.

Abruptly, the scrapings stopped entirely. There was only silence. Lance frowned, turning to Martha as if she could explain.

"Don't look at me." She said, shrugging her shoulders. "Maybe he found the en--"

Suddenly, the scraping noises returned, only louder and more frequent. And they were accompanied by high-pitched, rough shrieks. Shrieks that could only have been uttered by Todd Tolansky.

And just as suddenly as the noises of Todd's climbing had been cut off earlier, the shrieks and scraping noises were cut off. All was silence again.

Lance climbed partway onto the counter, shoved the front half of his body into the dumbwaiter shaft and looked upwards. There was nothing but inky blackness.

"TOAD!!!!" The rock-shaker bellowed, desperately hoping Todd was there to voice some reply. Even a Toady little squeak would have been a good enough sign for Lance. But there was no response.

Frantic, Lance pulled himself out of the dumbwaiter shaft, scraping his upper arms in the process. He turned to see Fred and Martha staring at him, faces pale and eyes wide.

Shocked and scared, Lance turned to the perpetrator of the original dumbwaiter plan.

"Well?!" Lance yelled at Martha, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her. The momentum knocked the hat off her head, but nobody noticed (least of all its wearer). "What do we do now, Miss Ghost Expert?!" Lance shrieked.

Martha looked dazed and lost for a moment, but suddenly snapped to attention.

"We need to get to the attic, now! He'll be taking Todd to his lair...there's not a moment to lose!"

Martha yanked herself free from Lance's grasp, and bolted out of the kitchen. Freddy lumbered after her as quickly as his girth allowed him, and Lance was right behind him.

Feet pounding on the floorboards, the three teens scrambled up the three flights of stairs. With Martha in the lead, and Toad's life on the line, there was not a moment's hesitation when the two boys reached the third floor, despite what had happened earlier that day.

A sinking feeling in his stomach, Lance briefly noted that the two soda bottles that had been left on the floor--one underneath the attic door, one thrown up to the landing by Todd much later--were both gone. But there was no time to focus on it further, as Freddy had already pulled the attic steps down, and Martha was scrambling upwards.

"Wait--!" Lance called. Bending down to pick up the flashlight he had dropped when Todd had raced downstairs after Boom-boom, Lance leapt up the stairs before he even realized what he was doing. As Freddy climbed up the stairs as far as he could go (his waistline prevented him from climbing through completely) Lance realized that he was standing in a dark, dusty attic. With the exit blocked by Blob, and with only a defenseless human by his side. And all the hairs on the back of his neck were dancing like nobody's business.

"Okay, okay." Martha heaved, out of breath from running up the stairs so quickly. "I--I don't see anything suspicious right off the bat. But be careful! And no matter what happens, always keep your hand at the level of your eyes!"

"Wha-hat?" Lance said haltingly, a little out of breath himself.

"I said, keep your hand at the level of y--ACK!!!"

"AHHH!" Lance recoiled as the dim outline standing in front of him (all he could see of Martha in this light) was abruptly yanked forward, into absolute blackness.

"What happened, what happened?!?!" Freddy shouted, unable to see anything from his current position but the back of Lance's knees. In the deep blackness ahead, scuffling noises could be heard.

"Ahhh!" Was the only form of response Lance could think to give. Suddenly, remembering he had a flashlight in his hand, Lance gripped the handle and fumbled for the switch.

A soft click, then a thin, but powerful beam of light shot across the attic.

Lance stared, his feet frozen in place. There, not five yards away, two figures wrestled on the floor. One was Martha, who kicked her feet and lashed out with her right arm as though trying to fend off an attack. Her left arm was otherwise occupied...it seemed to be trapped against the side of her neck, and she was frantically trying to push the appendage away from her face.

The second figure was no more than a dark form to Lance's eyes, a thin creature shadowed in black. It was pinning Martha to the ground with one arm, while attempting to avoid getting both kicked and hit. Lance could not see its other arm, though from the movement of its shoulder, the figure seemed to be pulling at something.

"Lance!" Freddy shouted. "Lance, what's going on up there, man?!"

Lance snapped back to reality.

"Hang on!" He shouted to Freddy without turning around. "It's gonna take a lotta juice to shake up this far...you'd better hope the house doesn't some crashing down!"

Quelling his paranoia in the face of a much more solid threat, Lance squeezed his fist as tightly as he could.

Immediately, the high-pitched noise that Avalanche's tremors always caused pierced everyone's ears. But it wasn't until ten seconds later than the tremors reached the third floor, and the boards began to shake beneath Lance's feet.

Grimacing, the rock shaker tilted his body ever so slightly backwards--willing the tremors to follow him. They did as bidden, and as the furniture and boxes toppled over, everything began tumbling in Lance's direction---along with the two startled figures that had been clawing at each other only moments before.

"Fred! DOWN!" Lance screamed, turning to run. The Blob wasted no time, and before you could say 'Jiminy Cricket' the attic door was unblocked. Disregarding the stairs, Lance leapt headfirst through the opening, stretching his hands wide open. The tremors stopped before he hit the ground...but inertia didn't, and Lance quickly rolled out of the way as several boxes, a chair, and two dust-covered figures fell through the attic door and landed on the carpet.

Tbc.


	10. Above the TrapDoors

Disclaimer: I don't own The Phantom of the Opera in any of its mediums. Nor do I own X-Men: Evolution.

Thanks very much to Tailfeather and The Phantom, faithful reviewers. Incidentally, both of you know of my computer problems, so I don't have to explain in detail why this chapter was abysmally late. Suffice it to say that my computer is working again, and PITB lives again! :D

And though I shan't be seeing the Phantom of the Opera movie the day it opens (or perhaps until Christmas is over, depending on how crowded and hectic the rest of the world is until then) I encourage all who haven't seen it yet to go out and do so! That means you, Phantom, although you don't need the encouragement. : )

So…the long-anticipated next chapter!

Above the Trap-Doors

"Uhh..." Wincing, Lance slowly peeled himself off the floor and shakily climbed to his feet. The rock shaker was normally a very steady person, but as of now Lance was feeling slightly woozy. In retrospect, diving headfirst onto a wood floor with only a thin carpet covering had not been his best idea ever.

Rubbing a hand across his forehead, Lance blinked and tried to focus on his surroundings. There was stuff on the floor...and people. People moving.

Lance's eyes were suddenly wide open.

"Fred!" He croaked, voice rough in its sudden urgency. But the Blob had been way ahead of him. The second the two figures on the floor began to stir, Fred had grabbed the dark figure and pinned it to the floor, half kneeling over it.

"I got it." He said to Lance, tilting his head towards the dazed form. "Everything's under control."

Nodding his head, Lance looked over at the other figure. Martha was conscious and moving slightly, but wasn't showing any signs of getting up. And her left arm was still pinned to the side of her neck in an awkward angle. Only now that she was completely in the light, Lance caught several flashes of something silver looped around her arm.

Grimacing, Martha jerked her left arm.

"L-lance." She said, voice shaky. "I n-need your help. The knot's stuck. I'm stuck."

"What?" Lance said, as he walked over and knelt beside her. But she didn't have to explain anything. When he looked closer, he immediately saw what she meant.

There was a loop of thin silver wire caught tight around Martha's neck and arm. There were red marks where the wire was cutting into her flesh, and the knot that had been used to tighten the wire had somehow twisted and become jammed. Hence, Martha's inability to loosen the wire by simply pushing her arm outward.

"Hang on." Lance said, reaching for the knot. Using his fingernails, he picked at the thin wire, and was rewarded as the knot slowly unraveled. Martha gave a relieved sigh as the wire came loose.

"And that." She said to Lance, shrugging the loose wire off as they both climbed to their feet. "Is why you always keep your hand at the level of your eye."

"Bravo, Mademoiselle!"

At the sound of that deadly voice, Lance and Martha turned to look in Fred's direction. The figure on the ground lay prone without resisting, but its contemptuous and manipulative voice was exactly the same as the voice that had spoken so maliciously from the living room ceiling.

"Bravo." The figure said again. "Bravo, Mademoiselle...Martha, was it? I've only recently caught your name. A job well done, I must say! Your knowledge has certainly paid off, for I'm afraid that in my haste I immediately took you for Mademoiselle Tabitha, and I would have punjabbed you to death within an instant had you not raised your hand in time. I apologize for my error. But now I must be going. Monsieur Dukes?"

The last sentence was delivered at a much lower tone, even colder and more neutral than before.

And upon hearing his name called, Freddy had widened his eyes and snapped to attention.

"Monsieur Dukes, let me up." The figure said, voice hard-edged and changeless. "I tire of being trapped like this. You shall let me up."

And to the surprise of everyone (including the Blob himself) Freddy lifted his hands up and released the figure.

Instantly, the figure had climbed to its feet and was rushing towards the attic stairs.

Before he even realized what he was doing, Lance called out:

"Wait!"

The figure paused, halfway up the stairs. Frozen in a graceful and stately pose, it looked down upon the three teens below it.

Lance gulped. He had never read 'The Phantom of the Opera', nor seen any pictures advertising the musical version. But what he saw before him was undoubtedly the person they had been seeking.

The figure was thin, with long legs and spindly fingers wrapped in (now dust-covered) white opera gloves. It wore an old-fashioned black and white tuxedo, mostly concealed by a long black cloak. Its dark, glossy brown hair was slicked back. And covering half of its face was a white mask.

Swallowing the lump of fear in his throat, Lance spoke before the figure could flee.

"Please" He said. "You win. But give us back the Toad! We sent him up to you, it wasn't his fault. Where is he?"

Times seemed to slow down as the figure stayed poised on the steps, staring at Lance with its piercing blue eyes.

Finally, after an eternity, the figure sighed and slumped it shoulders in defeat.

"I suppose there's really no point in continuing this." The figure said, in a voice much different from the one it had previously used. This new voice was softer, less chilling. "But it was fun while it lasted."

With a sweeping flourish, the figure reached up and pulled off its mask...revealing the pale face of a thin, teenage boy.

Everyone was shocked. But it was Freddy who found his voice first.

"Hey...you're just a kid!" He said, pointing up at the figure on the stairs. The apparent Phantom gave Freddy a deadpan look.

"And so are you and everyone else who lives under the roof of this house." He said. "Why should I not be one as well?"

"Well, Martha told us the Phantom was a man. I mean, a grown-up." Freddy said, looking slightly upset as he scratched his head.

"Well he was, during the time he spent in the Paris Opera House." The boy said. Reaching into the coat pocket of his tuxedo, he pulled out a pair of eyeglasses and put them on. "But we are all children at one point or another. And at any rate, I am hardly the Phantom himself. I am simply an admirer of his, one who has seen fit to borrow his name and his tricks in order to get what I want."

"Like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches." Lance said darkly, glaring up at the boy. "What was the big idea, leaving notes and dropping our fan and scaring us all half to death?!"

"If you'd like, I'll explain everything later." The Phantom said. "But right now, I think we should probably go get Todd. I know Freddy can't come up here, but you two are welcome to follow me."

With that, the Phantom turned on his heel and walked up the stairs.

Lance and Martha looked at each other, then trotted up after him.

The attic was just as dark as they had left it, but after several moments a clicking sound was heard, and light shot from a light bulb hanging from the ceiling, illuminating the room.

"There was a light bulb up here?!" Lance said, eyes widening as irony engulfed him.

"Yes." The Phantom said. "I installed it. If you had come up here and had a proper look around you might have noticed, but until today you never even poked your head up into the attic. Which I suppose was unconsciously sensible of you, as I might have punjabbed you if you had gotten too nosy."

The Phantom frowned, looking around the attic. It had been messy before, but now it looked as if...well, as if it had been hit by an earthquake.

Shaking his head and muttering about the mess, the Phantom walked over to a corner of the attic. Righting what looked like a broken coat tree, he unhooked his black cloak and hung it on one of the prongs.

Then, he pushed aside several fallen boxes to reveal a small dustless, niche surrounded by large piles of junk. There was a red sleeping bag on the floor, along with a small black suitcase and a bright blue backpack, both bulging full of stuff. There were several books scattered about, along with sheets of blank paper and a quill with a blood red tip.

"Coool..." Martha said, eyes wide.

"Oh for the love of…!" the Phantom complained, staring at his niche. "Lance you idiot, your earthquake messed up all my stuff! Look, you even broke the plate!"

Lance's gaze followed the Phantom's pointed finger to a scattering of white ceramic shards in the corner...the bigger pieces of which were smudged with what looked like peanut-butter fingerprints.

"Hey!" Lance said. "That's the plate Toad put the sandwiches on! But I thought you put it back!"

"No." The Phantom said. "I left you a clean one I'd stolen from the kitchen shelf awhile ago. I knew switching a clean plate with the sandwich plate would make for a much faster dash up and down the stairs, if ever I needed to do something like that. Which I did."

"It's like the ten thousand notes from the Bank of St. Farce." Martha breathed, amazement and respect visible in her eyes. "You've thought of everything!"

"Mm-hmm." The Phantom smiled, scooping up the remaining pieces of plate off the floor and depositing them atop a heavy oak roll top desk, one of the few things that hadn't been knocked over.

That done, the Phantom brushed off his hands and looked around. "Now...where did that trunk get to?"

"Trunk? What trunk?" Lance asked, his tone suspicious.

"Ah! There it is." The Phantom said cheerily, stepping over to a corner and pushing several objects off an old leather trunk that had toppled on its side.

An old leather trunk with holes drilled into the top.

"You didn't!" Lance said, eyes widening.

"I did." The Phantom responded, gripping the sides of the trunk and attempting to pull it upright. "He invaded my territory. I wasn't going to kill him or anything. He may look like a chain smoker, but he's not a bad guy. No, I just needed to put him out of the way for a little bit, as I rightly suspected the rest of you would soon be coming after me."

"So the dumbwaiter does lead to the attic!" Martha said.

"No, it leads to one of the third floor rooms." The Phantom said. "But that room is directly below the attic, and I cut a hole in the floor over there and made a trapdoor."

Having righted the old trunk, the Phantom pulled a key out of his pants pocket and began opening the locks that held the trunk shut.

"Anyway, I just hauled Todd up by his wrist with a punjab lasso, then knocked him out and brought him here. It's certainly far better than putting him in a torture chamber."

"By far." Martha said.

Having stripped the trunk of all its locks, the Phantom lifted up the lid.

There in the trunk lay Todd, unconscious and bound hand and foot with wire. The handkerchief Martha had given him had been retied around his face to serve as a gag.

"You bastard!" Lance shouted, shoving the Phantom aside and reaching into the trunk to pull Todd's limp form out.

The Phantom dusted himself off, glaring slightly. "I'll pardon your lack of manners, as you are concerned over your friend." He said cordially. "But really, he's perfectly fine. There's no need to be rude."

"Uhhh..." Todd moaned, his eyelids fluttering. As Lance pulled the handkerchief out of his mouth and undid his bonds, the Toad slowly rejoined the world of the living.

"Hey man, 's dark in here." He muttered, sitting up. Blinking sleepily, he looked up at the faces surrounding them.

Upon seeing the Phantom, he reacted understandably.

"EEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!" He shrieked, pedaling backwards with his feet. Lance grabbed his shoulders and held him steady.

"It's okay, dude." He said. "He's alright. I think."

"You think?" The Phantom smiled. "Honestly, there's no need for worry. It'd take some vicious work on your part before I'd hurt any of you. Except Tabby. I don't like her."

Grabbing Todd's right hand, the Phantom pulled him to his feet.

"Now, if any of you require explanations, I'll tell you in the kitchen, over sandwiches and soda." The Phantom said.

tbc.


	11. The End of the Ghost's Story

Disclaimer: I don't own The Phantom of the Opera in any of its mediums. Nor do I own X-Men: Evolution. 

Gracious thanks to Tailfeather and The Phantom, my ever-faithful reviewers. I'm very happy you've continued reading and reviewing this far, and I hope it was enjoyable for you.

This is it, the final chapter.da da DUM Afterroughly two months of editing and posting this peice, chapterby chapter, it's done. I'm glad it got the responses it did, and made people laugh. I hope whoever's reading this enjoys the ending. Have a wonderful New Year!

The End of the Ghost's Story

Ten minutes later, Martha, the Phantom and the three Brotherhood members were all seated around the kitchen table, polishing off a large plate of assorted sandwiches. The Phantom's tuxedo jacket was draped over the back of his chair, and with his shirt sleeves rolled up and his tie stuffed in his back pocket, he looked less like an ominous figure and more like the skinny teen he was.

"So exactly how long have you been living in our house?" Lance asked the Phantom, being the first one to speak since the sandwiches had been set down on the table. "And for that matter, how did you get inside in the first place?"

"I've been here about eight or nine days." The Phantom replied, licking grape jelly off his fingers. "I broke in through a downstairs window late one evening, looking for a place to sleep. I snuck upstairs, hid my stuff in the attic, then crept around the house to make sure it was safe."

"This house ain't never safe." Todd muttered, nibbling on a piece of bread crust. "We got earthquakes, explosions, huge winds--"

"And toad slime all over the walls!" The Phantom laughed. "Believe me, I noticed everything within the first half-hour. But I liked you guys. You were funny, and interesting to watch. Plus, you were mutants. Like me."

"So you are a mutant!" Lance said.

"Yes. And I decided to stay here, among people like me. I actually didn't come up with the fridge-note idea for a couple of days. Only after I'd made a few trapdoors, and discovered that it would be easier to have you deliver food to me than for me to sneak around the house in the dead of night. You all sleep _way_ too light."

"Yeah. We do." Fred smiled, pausing in his annihilation of a ham and mustard sandwich.

"You're not from Bayville, are you?" Martha said. The Phantom shook his head.

"No."

"From where, then?"

"The Midwest."

"Really? That's far." Todd said.

"Yes. Yes it is."

"Is it your folk's fault that you're all the way over here on the east coast, hidin' in other people's attics?" Lance asked. "Did your parents kick you out for being different?"

"My parents did not kick me out." The Phantom replied coolly. "They never realized what I was. Soon as I found out I had powers, I kept them a secret. It was easy."

"Just what are your powers, anyway?" Lance said, giving the Phantom a suspicious look.

"Persuasion." The Phantom said. "I have powers of persuasion. My vocal cords are abnormal…I can do almost anything with my voice. I can change my tone to suit my will, I can mimic anyone I choose, perfectly. And if I pitch my voice a certain way, whoever I speak to will do as I bid. That's the Phantom's voice."

"Like when you spoke to Freddy in the third floor hallway." Lance said.

"Bingo. I told him to let me go, and he let me go."

"Yeah. And I didn't even think about it." Fred said, furrowing his brow as he thought back on what had happened. "I just did it."

"Is that what you did with the fan?" Martha said. "You told it to drop, and it dropped?"

"Not exactly." The Phantom said. "I can't really tell inanimate objects what to do. But if I try hard enough, I can sort of...push them to do what I want. And quite frankly, your fan was going to drop sooner or later anyway. The plaster on the ceiling was rotting, though I don't think you noticed. There were too many stains on the ceiling already to distinguish it. So it was easy to make the fan come loose."

"And presumably, this power also provides you with the abilities of a ventriloquist." Martha said.

The Phantom smiled. "I'm an excellent ventriloquist." He said. "But that power I had to perfect. I had to be properly taught."

"And who taught you to perfect it?" Alex asked.

"A circus performer."

"A circus performer?" Fred looked confused.

"Yes. There was this circusvisiting my town, and they had a hypnotist. I snuck into his tent after the show, thinking it would be funny to see if I could hypnotize _him_ with my voice. But it turns out I couldn't...because he was a mutant too."

"Really?" Todd asked.

"Really. His name was Mesmero. And after he blocked my voice control, he sat me down and we started talking. He'd never seen someone with powers so similar to his own, and he offered to take me on as an apprentice."

"And you accepted?" Lance asked.

"How could I not? My life at home had grown dull. I was tired of working my family like puppets. Making my little brothers sit in a closet for four hours straight without speaking was certainly fun...but telling my parents over and over that nothing was different about me, ordering them to forget about my odd behavior and stop questioning me, that was hardly enjoyable. And there weren't any other mutants anywhere nearby, none that I saw, at any rate. No one else was like me."

"So you left with the circus." Martha said.

"I did. I ordered everyone at home not to miss me or be worried about me, then I left."

"But if you're here, then where's the circus?" Lance asked.

"The circus is headed this way, I know their route goes through this town." The Phantom said. "But I am no longer a part of it. Mesmero taught how to use my powers to their greatest potential, but he was a devious, untrustworthy person. He spoke maniacally of Armageddon, he talked in his sleep to some powerful lord. From his mad ramblings I learned that he served another mutant, a powerful one."

The Phantom's face grew serious.

"I learned this, and I did not like the sound of it. Not only was my Master insane, he served a greater creature. And never shall I play lackey to a lackey. So I chose to leave, and be my own Master."

Sighing, the Phantom leaned back in his chair.

"That was a month ago. Since then I've wandered homeless, heading for the ocean. I haven't had an easy time, though my powers have made it easier than it would be for normal runaways. But living in this house was probably the best thing ever to happen to me."

"Well, you can stay here if you want to." Fred offered.

"Really? I can stay?" The Phantom said, raising an eyebrow.

"He can stay?" The two other boys echoed.

"Sure." Fred said cheerfully. He looked at Lance and Todd. "I mean, it's not like we actually use the third floor. And it would be nice to have someone here able to keep Boom-boom in line."

"I suppose I might stay." The Phantom said. "I may not, though. I don't like the idea of getting caught up in any of your fights, petty or otherwise. Now that you've found me out, you'd be asking for my help."

Lance scowled. "That's an arrogant thing to say."

The Phantom grinned. "I suppose it is. But you must admit, I've got a point."

"Yeah, you do." Todd said.

Martha raised her finger.

"I got just one more question, dude." She said, smiling slightly. "What's your real name?"

The Phantom looked surprised for a moment, the returned the smile.

"Christopher." He said.

Suddenly, Pietro rushed into the room.

"Hello insects!" He said brightly, stopping short at the fridge. Hand a blur, Pietro opened the door, reached inside, pulled out a bottle of Sprite and took a swig. Turning around, he observed the faces sitting at the table.

"And hello there." The speedster said, catching Martha's eye, his voice still fast, but slowed down at exactly the right point to make him sound seductive

Martha looked confused. "Um, hi."

Fred rolled his eyes. Pietro always insisted on attracting the attention of strange girls, no matter who they were.

"Guess what Pietro?" Lance said, smirking. "While you were gone, we discovered who the intruder in the attic was!"

"Yeah!" Todd said, pointing at Christopher. "It's him. And he may be sticking around to live in our attic!"

"I see." Pietro said, smiling. "So this is the one who was pretending to be Erik?"

"What?" Lance stiffened, his eyes widening. "You know about the Phantom of the Opera?"

"Yeah, I read that book about a year ago. "Pietro said. "Written by Gaston Leroux, right? You know, it was pretty obvious there was a Phantom in our attic. Notes in red ink on the fridge, fans falling like chandeliers...easy to figure out."

"But...but.." Lance spluttered. "Why didn't you tell us you knew about this?"

"Well," Pietro smirked. "You never asked."

And with that, Pietro zipped out of the room and up the stairs.

There was a very long silence. A vein was throbbing on Lance's forehead, and he looked like he was about to explode. Freddy's left eye was also twitching.

"Lance?" Todd said softly, sounding miserable. "Lance, he's too fast. We can't catch him."

"DEEEEAAAAATTTTTHHHH!!!!!!!" Lance screamed, knocking over his chair and racing out of the kitchen and up the stairs, hell-bent on causing severe damage to Quicksilver's person.

Fred, just as angry (though not as psychotic), raced after Lance, bellowing threats. And Todd had no choice but to follow, hopping after them as he whimpered, the irony of the situation consuming him.

All was silence in the kitchen. Only Christopher and Martha remained seated.

"Sooo...how's your day been?" Martha said, attempting to make small talk.

"Not bad. I had fun."

"Me too. Even with the near-death experience." Martha fingered the thin mark on her arm, from which the redness was slowly fading.

"I truly am sorry about that."

"I know. It's okay."

There was a moment of awkward silence. Suddenly, Martha brightened.

"You know, I got my allowance this morning, and I was thinking about going to the arcade at the mall. You play ski ball?"

"I dabble." Christopher said.

"Well, I can teach you to play like a pro, if you want. It's all in the wrist movement. And there's lots of other fun games there too. Table hockey, pinball, claw machines, virtual water skiing...even a DanceDance Revolution game."

The Phantom's ears perked up at this last comment. "Really?"

"Yeah. You wanna go? We can get ice cream afterwards, and maybe see a movie."

"Sounds like fun!" Christopher smiled, standing up. "I'm in."

"Great!"

As the Phantom pulled on his jacket, Martha grabbed her fez off the floor and stuffed it into her backpack. Unhurriedly, the two made their way out of the kitchen and into the main hallway.

"After you."

"No, after you. I insist."

And as insane laughter and shouts of rage emanated from the second floor, the two teens walked out the door.

The End

**And so it was that the fanfic was finished, and the canon of X-Men: Evolution was harmed as little as possible. For Christopher did not stay in the Boardinghouse, but went to live in Martha's basement, since after an entire weekend of arcade games, eating pizza and watching movies, they had become fast friends. So these two OCs disappeared as quickly as they had come, and the author left the canon almost as flawless as it had been before she arrived. Yay! :D**


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